Something I Thought Could Be
by Sparcck
Summary: A bitter Wufei reflects on his past, his fellow pilots, and the circumstances that brought him to where he is at the beginning of Endless Waltz [angst, shonen ai: 5+2, 1+2, 3+4]


Something I Thought Could Be  
by [Sparcck][1]

  
Posted: 12 March 01   
Rating: PG  
Archive: Please! Just drop me a line and let me know where it's going. Anyone I've previously given permission to, go nuts.  
Genre: Angst, angst, angst, shonen ai  
Warnings: Angsty!Wufei  
Pairings: 5+2, 1+2, 3+4  
Spoilers: Those episodes in the 20s, um, 49, Endless Waltz, the whole bit. 

Summary: A bitter Wufei tries to correct the mistakes he's made, and reflects on how he got where he is at the beginning of Endless Waltz.

Disclaimer: All characters, names, places, etc. belong to Bandai, Sunrise, and Sotsu Agency. Do I own them? Of course not. Will you sue me? I hope not.

_Pictures in an Exhibition_ is by the marvelous Death Cab for Cutie, off of _Something About Airplanes_. Ben, I love you, please don't be mad that I stole your lyrics.

Note: This idea has been kicking around in my head for awhile, and I thought Tyr's angst contest was a good way to get it out. So. There you have it.

Thanks: to my wonderful roommate Chrissy for reading this about a million times and letting me know, ever so gently, when I needed to ctrl+a+backspace. More thanks for having weird, midnight Gundam Wing cravings so I had someone to watch it with. I think I should also thank Lisa, for letting us have free run of the living room with minimal eye-rolling. Bitch :)

Feedback: All comments, criticisms, flames, marriage proposals, and death threats should be sent, with care, to [sparcck@hotmail.com][1].

* * *

> _I'm definitely shaking  
The silence isn't breaking  
Backwashed and stranded memories  
Of something I thought could be_
> 
> _-Pictures in an Exhibition, Death Cab for Cutie_

* * *

I'm not quite sure when it happened. It was sometime before we were in that OZ holding cell together, but I don't think I realized what was happening until after we had broken out.

It was his voice through the commlink that did it. His smooth voice, inviting me to escape with him -- it had an edge to it that he didn't let people hear. But I heard it, and I knew the reason behind it. And when he flipped on the visual, and he stared at me, unsmiling, I knew. I knew that somehow he had made his way into my heart. 

I remember I nodded at him, smiling grimly. He understood, he saw it in my eyes. And I understood him. Perfectly. How wonderful that this would come out of war. How perfect that we should create something where before we only knew how to destroy.

I imagined myself his savior, and him mine.

And I think I loved him. 

How utterly foolish of me. I should have known better.

I used to hate war -- but it has taught me many things. It has taught me the value of honor and of strength.

Meiran didn't consider what she did sacrifice. She fought without pretense, because it was the only way she knew how to live.

I reflect on that a lot now. As Nataku, she claimed she would be our justice; she always spoke of dying in glory, in battle. She would never live in anyone's shadow, least of all her husband's.

I never felt worthy of her. Never. 

The smell of the flowers in the field the day she died was almost overpowering. She felt so light in my arms, so unlike the fierce warrior I had known since I was a small child.

"Chang Wufei?" she snorted derisively when she found out she was to marry me. "You're that scholar boy."

"You're dissatisfied?" I had shrugged it off at the time, but in truth I was so angry when she said it, like it was something to be ashamed of. And maybe I had been ashamed of it, maybe I had wanted to be stronger. But fighting was not the way I wanted to live my life. I found solace in words and thought.

That day I first piloted Shenlong, I tasted the excitement of battle. I understood her need to fight, to feel the strength coursing through my body, the knowledge that I was in command. I thought that when this battle was over, we would finally have a common ground.

In my head, I was already making a list of books that she could read, so she could tread my ground, as well.

For the first time, I had hope. 

I'll never forget the stench of flowers in that field, the smell of death. And Meiran --Nataku -- in my arms, peaceful for the first time since we were married.

"It's-- it's beautiful... isn't it?" she asked, faltering over the words.

I looked down at her and held her a little tighter. _Yes, Nataku. Beautiful._

"I've never appreciated flowers like this before." Her breath was a little more uneven. I thought it was just from being carried.

I set her down as gently as I could. _And I never appreciated you._

"Wufei?"

"What?"

She wheezed for a moment and I, alarmed, reached out to pull her closer. _We're okay now_, I thought. _This is going to be okay._

"I... was strong, wasn't I?" Her voice dropped. "You weren't ashamed of you wife, were you?" 

I made a small sound and held her tighter. "You're strong," I whispered, fearing my voice would betray my emotion. "Stronger than anyone."

"No..."

I looked away from her, afraid. Her voice was so very thin.

"You are... stronger..." Her head dropped against my shoulder and I smiled. 

_She thinks I'm strong, hm? I'll show her._ I lifted my shoulder playfully, trying to knock her away. "Hey, get off me," I teased.

She didn't move. Her head was like a lead weight on my arm and she *wasn't moving*. Panic flashed through me but I shoved it aside. She was joking. She had to be joking, had to be one up on me like always.

"Hey," I said, and grabbed her shoulders. That's when I noticed the blood, a thick trail that tracked from the corner of her mouth over her chin. And her chest, her stomach, covered in blood that was seeping through her training outfit. 

"Hey!" I said, louder, shaking her violently. Her head snapped back and forth like a doll's, and her blood spattered on the pristine flowers she had tried so hard to protect.

"Open your eyes!" I cried hoarsely. " I haven't proven myself worthy of being your husband yet!"

Her lips were curved into a mocking, bloody smile. 

"Nataku!" 

Later, they told me my cries could be heard from the Temple in the colony's center.

She was gone, and all that was left was a miserable scholar who had enjoyed the battle that took his wife's life.

Stronger than her. I would laugh now to think of it, but it seems that anything past this one expression is too tiring for me. I was never stronger than she was. But I could be. And that's what she was telling me that day, I think. That I had the capacity to be stronger.

She had seen the gleam of the battle in my eyes. She was telling me to always fight, to come second to no one.

I had gotten soft; I was lulled into a false peace, a parody of the peace that I had found for those last minutes of Nataku's life. 

And in a moment, less than a moment, I have become secondary in so many ways. 

I hate myself for not knowing which way is more crushing.

And I hate him for existing: The Perfect Soldier. Of course he had everything, even my little piece of sanity.

And I hate _him_ for making me feel anything at all.

But then again, that is what Duo does. He makes people feel things they may not want to feel. It is me who is the fool for thinking I was different.

For wanting to be different.

Nataku, I should have known better. Forgive me this weakness. It will not happen again.

* * *

I saw it on Yuy's face in that cell, when Maxwell was roughly shoved in, tumbling over the steps and his own feet to land in a heap of black and blood and a smiling face. 

He was physically restraining himself from moving, forcing his voice to be neutral. "Botched your mission?"

I felt it, too, but I was much better at hiding it than he was. Or maybe it was just that he wasn't looking for it, because I wasn't the type. Shouldn't have been the type, rather. 

"You'll see," Duo proclaimed with his usual flourish. "I'll become Shinigami once again... but right now, I'm just so tired..." 

He slumped down and closed his eyes, losing consciousness, I think, the moment his head touched the ground. The same way he did everything: all or nothing.

My concern for him was the first indication I had that I may have had feelings for the Deathscythe pilot. I tried to tell myself that it was just my concern for the mission, my hope for the war to be over as soon as possible. 

But the longer I looked at him, so fragile, his face stuck between a grimace and a smirk, the more I came to realize that he was something more to me than just a fellow pilot.

_Nonsense_, I berated myself. _You barely know this boy. It's just... hormones._ I hated that word and every notion that came with it; that my body could react to something without my control was repulsive. I turned away from him and clenched my hands in my lap.

They itched to touch him. I pretended it was just fatigue.

Yuy, too, was looking away, but his eyes kept straying back to the braided boy. 

Neither of us moved for a long time.

I had suspected them of being lovers, indulging in each other when the strains of war got to be too much for them. I would have to have been stupid to miss it, the way the air changed when the two of them were together. Even now, even though he tried to hide it, I could tell -- either they were sleeping together or they soon would be.

The American had a way of breaking down your defenses, so I could imagine how easy it would have been for him to get stuck in Yuy's head. Especially the image of the boy touching you, soothing you, making you forget where and who you were.

I shook my head. 

Yuy looked at me sharply and I met his gaze unwaveringly. 

Impure thoughts. Not that I had never had them. But I found I didn't want to have them for Maxwell.

They made me uncomfortable; lust is an easy emotion.

Maxwell stirred and Yuy tore his eyes away from mine.

"Ah, geez, my _head_." He hissed in pain as he sat up slowly, rubbing one hand under his braid. "Well, at least we're all together, huh?"

Yuy grunted something unintelligible.

"Oh, you say the sweetest things, you know that?" 

Suddenly, I found myself pinned with that bright, intelligent gaze. "What's with him?"

"This is no time for jokes," I snapped.

"Well, ex_cuse_ me. Man, you two are just a barrel of laughs, huh?" Maxwell huffed and stretched his arms over his head, his handcuffs clattering together. "Saw Trowa in that little uniform, so I'm guessing he'll be equally as sour as you two. Great."

Yuy glared. "Shut up."

Maxwell winked at me. "Looks like _some_one's ready to be riled up."

I shrugged and turned away, choosing to ignore the two of them as Maxwell laughed and chided, and Yuy grunted and did his general best to scare off the smaller boy.

They were definitely sleeping together. But probably not lovers.

Not that it was any of my concern.

It wasn't until after Barton came to take Yuy away that we spoke again.

Maxwell was quietly thumbing through the schematics for his revamped Gundam, taking little peeks at me when he thought I wasn't looking. 

"What?" I snapped irritably.

He blinked. "No, I -- uh, this is pretty cool, is all. I heard it'll be completed in a month." He seemed to hesitate. "Now that Quatre's back, we're gonna be busy again."

I felt an odd chill go through me, but I tried to stay indifferent. "I've no intention of thinking of an unconfirmed Gundam as an ally."

"But he's defeating OZ's troops. He's gotta be an ally. Right?"

"I certainly do hope so. But I've got a bad feeling."

He laughed. "Premonitions, Wufei? You're the last person I would have expected to go for all that superstitious mumbo jumbo."

I stiffened. "It's not superstition."

"What is it, then?" He had turned off the schematics and was looking at me fully. I had to look away from those eyes; they were making me feel too warm.

"It's just a feeling. Not supernatural, more... like spirituality."

"Same thing, right?" There was a trace of bitterness in his voice.

"Not at all." I gestured to his priest's outfit. "I believe you people wear those clothes for similar reasons."

"Not my reasons," he muttered, grabbing the end of his braid and worrying it between his thumb and middle finger.

Warning bells went off in my head. This was not a place we were supposed to go, not as soldiers. But I had always prided myself on being a warrior, and warriors help their comrades. "Then why?" I asked softly.

"Ah, ah, Wufei." He wagged a finger at me -- a flash of flesh in the dark, accompanied by the almost musical rattling of chains. "You know that's not the way this is supposed to work."

"And just how _is_ this supposed to work, Maxwell?"

"It's simple. See, Heero's the Perfect Soldier, Trowa's the Mercenary, Quatre's the Innocent, you're the Dragon, and I'm the Braided Idiot."

"Maxwell--"

"And as you can guess, Dragons and Idiots don't get along."

"Maxw--"

"So, whaddya say I make some small talk, you tell me to shut up, and then we rot in pea--"

"Duo!"

He raised an eyebrow and tsked at me. "First names. There you go again, Wufei. Master O would be _so_ disappointed. And trust me, he doesn't punish gently." He rubbed just under his rib cage lightly.

I stared at him. "Did he hurt you?"

"Me? Nah, I'm fine."

I was silent for a moment, processing what he had said.

Then, the thought came, _He thinks I'm a Dragon._ I felt myself grow warm; no one had ever thought of me in those terms before. 

"I hope I didn't offend you. With the Dragon thing." His eyes were closed, but one was cracked slightly open. I could see it, glinting in the half-dark. 

"No. You didn't."

"Good."

The silence was so thick it was almost painful. It hit me all at once that I _had_ relied on Duo to be the Braided Idiot, always talking, filling up the silence. It shamed me.

"You're not an idiot, you know."

"_I_ know," he said, sounding slightly amused. "But I didn't expect any of you to know it. Not even..." He trailed off, but I knew who he was going to say.

Suddenly, I was angry with Yuy. How could the Japanese boy let Maxwell think he was an idiot? If they were as close as I suspected them of being, it was disgraceful.

"My clan, we were called the Dragon Clan. So I'm honored that you made me the Dragon in your view of the five of us." My voice sounded sure, echoing in the cell, but in my head it was weak. I had no idea how to do this.

"It must have been nice, coming from a Clan and all that. Having people around all the time."

"It was difficult for me. I'm not... sociable."

He snorted, something of a half laugh. "Really."

_Baichi_, I swore. _Of course this was a bad idea._ This was exactly the reason why I didn't have many friends on L5. I found I was better suited in the company of dead philosophers; they would never make me feel uncomfortable or foolish, which Duo had a habit of doing very often, just by being in the same room as me.

His face fell. "Out of line, right?"

I didn't say anything, just stared at the floor dumbly.

He slid closer to me, hesitantly putting both hands on my upper arm. "I do that sometimes, but I don't mean it. I _didn't_ mean it, I swear."

"It's fine, Maxwell. It's like you said, this isn't territory we're supposed to tread with each other."

He chewed on the end of his braid. "I could have been wrong. I'm wrong about a lot of stuff, really."

I grudgingly quirked a small smile. "It's really okay. Just leave it." 

Maxwell, being Maxwell, of course couldn't leave it. "Tell me what it was like."

I bristled a bit. "What _what_ was like?"

"Having a Clan."

I narrowed my eyes. "Why?"

"I want to show you that I can listen as much as I can talk. I-- I don't know. I'm not an idiot, even though I act like a jerk sometimes. A lot of the time."

His hands had slipped from my shoulder, and I caught his fingers quickly, squeezing lightly, once, before he could retreat. "You're not. You-- you don't," I said, perhaps a little too earnestly.

He smiled and tilted his head a little to the right, staring at me intently. 

"What?"

"No, no, nothing. You were going to tell me a story..."

I huffed and shifted and tried to act generally put out by the whole thing; but the way he was looking at me, it made me want to give him whatever he wanted, as long as he promised to never stop looking at me like that. "It was difficult, like I said. That's all."

"Difficult how?"

"Just _difficult_ difficult."

He bounced a little, and my eyes strayed to the end of his braid, twitching on the floor next to my knee. "What does _that_ mean?"

I wanted to touch his braid, feel the silky texture against my palm, wanted to just lean my head against his shoulder and give my strength to someone else for once. I could feel my mouth pulling into a frown. My strength was a gift given to me, one that I didn't have the right to give up, and Maxwell certainly didn't need it.

"It means what it means. Please, just... stop."

I tried to sound harsh, tried to hurt him to make him move away, stop looking at me. I just couldn't deal with it.

He sat back, his eyes shuttering. "Right," he mumbled. "Dragons and Idiots."

I could have said something, but I didn't. Instead I closed my eyes, feeling the change in the air as he slid away from me, his clothes barely whispering against the concrete in the silence.

The only sound for a long time was the grating of the vents as air was pushed in from outside. And then even that stopped.

I think Duo stopped breathing.

"What happened?"

"The air shut off."

"I _know_ that," he snapped, rising and standing just under one of the vents, his hands stretched up as far as they would go. "Nothing."

We were quiet for a moment, until he slammed his fist into the wall, cursing under his breath. He turned to face me. "Not to sound _stupid_ or anything..."

I very carefully did not wince.

"...But how the hell are we going to get out of here?"

He didn't wait for me to answer before running at the door, throwing his shoulder into it. "Hey," he called. "Hey, hey, what's going on out there?" He threw himself against the door again, and I winced at the sound of his shoulder cracking against the metal. 

"Damn, what a stupid way to kill us all." He stopped and coughed dramatically, putting a hand to his throat like it was constricting even as he spoke.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, even as I felt a smile tugging at my mouth. I picked up the schematics and started flashing them onto the wall, hoping for a distraction.

"I sure wish I could've gone to battle today instead of Heero." His voice sounded wistful, and I forced myself to concentrate on the new modifications to Shenlong. 

_Double Dragon Fang, longer beam saber, more powerful verniae thrusters, I am *not* listening to Duo..._

His voice, saying my name, broke the thin thread of control I had, and the schematics blurred as I flipped through them mindlessly.

"What are you doing, Wufei? There's no point studying that now."

"Stay calm if you want to live a little longer," I said quietly, hoping my voice wasn't as unsteady as it felt.

"We don't stand a chance unless something pretty drastic happens." He gave the door one last kick.

"I'm doing everything I can in case that something drastic _does_ happen."

He came to sit a few feet away from me. "Wufei..."

My heart froze and then slammed into motion, beating at twice its normal speed. It was just that there was less oxygen in the room; it certainly wasn't the tone in his voice, the way his voice glided down over the last syllable in my name.

"Sorry, I'm going to throw in the towel," he said, closing his eyes and throwing himself backwards, legs sprawling open. "Oh, man, this is such a lame way to die!"

I clenched my hands, wanting to tell him to stop being so dramatic, that we weren't going to die here. But I didn't speak, didn't move.

He stood suddenly and paced the room, sagging against one wall every few passes, and then repeating the movement. 

The schematics were forgotten as I watched him, following every strain of muscle, every rise of his chest, every flicker of his eyes. I was speaking before I realized what I was saying, my voice probably much harsher than I meant it to be, my ways with people ever clumsy. "You would do well to sit still; you're only wasting air by moving around so much."

He glared at me, holding my gaze defiantly as he lapped the room a few more times. I could tell he was flagging by his unsteady steps, and then he sat with his back to me, his chin to his chest. The only sound in the cell was the rasping of air in Duo's throat as he struggled to catch his breath.

Before I knew what I was doing, I reached a hand to him.

His shoulder blade jerked slightly when I touched him, but he didn't move.

"Duo, I-- apologize if I made you feel poorly."

Of course, he didn't respond, and I thought we would end up just dying to the sound of our breathing. My eyes closed and I suddenly felt very cold, very alone.

"Tell me a story, okay?"

My eyes flew open, and I responded almost automatically. "I really don't know any stories."

"Tell me about your Clan. You didn't tell me before. And don't say it was difficult -- that's not a story."

I struggled to keep my face impassive. "It's not so much a story as just the way things were."

"So tell me a story."

I frowned, but he raised an eyebrow, looking distinctly unconvinced. "Alright, then." I was quiet, considering. I don't know what made me choose the words I did, but Duo looked so serious, so still, that it felt right. It was just... right.

"Once, there was a beautiful princess, heir to a very powerful Clan. Any man would have done anything to be with her; but as it turns out, the one chosen for her was the one who wanted nothing to do with her, or his Clan in general."

I paused. Duo shifted slightly, but didn't say anything. 

"This man, a Scholar, much preferred books to people, and the Princess found him to be unworthy, as he had never seen battle. So, as happens in these stories, the two of them lived a year bickering and refusing to acknowledge the other's choices. 

But neither one of them would ever have admitted that they were falling in love. The Princess could never love such a weak, secluded man, and the Scholar would never love a woman who lived off of something as coarse as glory in battle." 

My throat was becoming dry and tight and I had to stop, swallowing desperately. Duo still didn't say anything, only shifted again, turning and drawing a little closer to me. The warmth of his leg almost pressed against mine was soothing, and the burning in my chest eased a bit.

"Then came the day when War was brought to their Clan, outsiders threatening the lives of their family. That was the day the Scholar took up arms, and the Princess stopped to appreciate the beauty of the world around her."

I paused again, and then Duo's hand was on my knee, his thumb rubbing small circles over it lightly. My emotions raged inside me, part of me violently wanting not only to pull away but to push the American back, another part of me knowing that I had to finish what I started, wanting to tell someone, and maybe have him understand.

I looked up at Duo and he nodded, looking at me with half-lidded, very old eyes.

"But, as it also happens in these stories, they only were allowed one fleeting moment of peace in which their lives stretched out before them with endless possibilities of companionship and challenges and love, something neither one had ever considered before. 

And in that moment, the Princess bestowed upon the Scholar the greatest gift he had ever received -- her strength. And just as suddenly as they finally understood each other, she was gone from this world, leaving him to carry on in her memory, and in the memory of that one moment when they were at peace."

I bowed my head when I was done, not wanting Duo to see the sheen of almost-tears in my eyes. I hadn't cried since the moment Meiran died, and I told myself I wouldn't.

He was pressed up against me without me even realizing it, and he ghosted a hand over the crown of my head before moving back slightly. 

I swayed towards him, his heat a beacon for my waning strength, and his hand found its way to the small of my back. I allowed the gesture, although truth be told, I don't think I could have pulled away if I wanted to.

The silence unnerved me, as I expected Duo to start talking, to say it was okay, or that he understood. But he didn't say anything, merely sat very close, breathing rhythmically in the darkness, his hand surprisingly cool through the fabric of my shirt, his hip warm in the crook where my mine met my thigh.

"Was that okay?"

He started. "What?"

"The story," I said, lifting my chin. "Was it acceptable."

"You don't have to do that," he said, his hand clenching a fistful of my tank top. "You don't have to talk because you think you should. _I_ do that, not you."

"_Is_ that what you do?"

His hand resumed its slow rubbing on my back, his thumb brushing every now and then against the bare skin that was exposed when my top rode up a bit. I had to struggle to suppress a shiver.

"Yeah," he said, almost thoughtfully. "That's what I do."

"You don't have to, Duo," I offered.

"Ah, Wufei, _that's_ where you're wrong."

"Am I?"

"Yes, I have to talk. I have to fill up the emptiness. I just haven't figured out if it's for myself or for you guys, so you'll all be okay with what we're doing, so you won't think about it. Because sometimes _I_ don't want to think about it..."

He moved slightly, his hand dropping from me as he adjusted his position, and I took the opportunity to stretch out my bent leg, trying as unobtrusively as possible to shift away from him. But we ended up almost back to front, my arms to one side of him, Duo half-reclined on my shoulder, his hip now pressed up against the juncture of my thigh and groin.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly.

"Why wouldn't it be, Maxwell," I said stiffly, although my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it.

He laughed lightly and twisted half-around, my breath catching as the friction between us caused something I couldn't define to coil in my belly. He had to know what he was doing to me, _had_ to know. 

"Back to Maxwell, huh?"

I blinked. I hadn't even noticed the change, but he was right. I had stopped thinking of him as 'Maxwell, Braided American Idiot'. I thanked whatever gods I could for the dark that covered my flush.

"No. Duo."

"That's better." 

There was a long pause as he turned again, settling back against my chest. I hesitated only a second before raising my arms over his head and letting them settle around his waist, one hand resting lightly over his navel -- I decided that it was weak to not do it out of fear, and found that the feeling of holding him was very pleasant. 

"You know, it's funny," he said suddenly. "Of all the people to be fighting for the same thing, to be living for the same thing, it had to be the two of us. Isn't that funny?"

"What thing is that?" I asked, relaxing more and more, reveling in the feeling of his voice rumbling through my chest.

"Revenge, I guess. Right?"

I was silent. 

"To prove something, then? No, to fix something. That's it. To set something right."

"Is that what I'm living for?" One arm around him tightened, and he covered my hands with his, one thumb moving in slow circles over the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. I couldn't be sure, but it felt more than a brotherly gesture, felt more than the soothing touch of a comrade. I wanted it to be more, and I became bolder, nudging him with my knee and shifting again so he was flush against my chest.

He dropped his head back against my shoulder, and I turned my head in time to see a bead of sweat make its way down his cheek, his nostrils flaring slightly as he drew a deep breath.

The lack of air must have been getting to him. It must have been getting to both of us.

I started to school my breathing into long, even breaths, increasing the time between each intake. The lack of oxygen was definitely affecting me, wreaking havoc with my senses, making Duo the only thing I could feel, the room itself all but melting away.

"No," he answered, and I started, my eyes, having drifted shut sometime during the pause, snapping open. "No, that's not what you're living for; that's what you're _fighting_ for."

"So what are we living for?"

"I don't know, 'Fei, what are we living for? What are _you_ living for?"

I didn't say anything. It was a valid question, but I had never considered it so -- as far as I had ever been concerned, since Meiran died, this life wasn't my own. But the way Duo was pressed up against me, the feeling of his slightly cool palm over my hand, the feel of his back moving with his breathing: it made me want to claim this life as mine, made me want to hurry and set things right so I could begin to live, like I never had.

"I have a story like yours," he said softly. "But I never wanted to tell anyone before. I'm not sure that I even really want to say it now, but the fact that I told you I _have_ a story, the fact that I thought about it, about telling you, I mean... it's a big thing. An _important_ thing. I feel like--" He stopped, drawing a deep breath again, his chest expanding with great effort.

It was my turn to soothe him, to let my free hand drift over the end of his braid -- it was as silky as I had thought, even with all the dirt and the blood.

"It's hard to breathe sometimes."

I did some quick calculations in my head. "The air's been off awhile. I think it may--"

He chuckled. "No. Not the air. Not now, that's what I'm saying. This collar is so tight that it's hard to breathe. But being here, listening to you, it feels looser. Not so hard to draw a breath." His next small laugh was slightly bitter. "I had almost forgotten it was there."

I watched almost from a distance as my fingers twined loosely with his, fascinated with the contrast of my skin with his. I let my cheek brush his very gently, very quickly, and his skin was cool, almost too cool. "In my Clan, spirituality was important to us, like it is to you. When I'm not on missions, I wear my dress whites --"

"It's _not_ the same thing," he sneered. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't wear this out of deference to any _god_--"

"It _is_ the same thing." I felt him jerk slightly in my arms, as though he wanted to pull away, but I wouldn't let him. "I wear them for the same reason you wear your traditional garb: to remember." 

His body went slack, lying heavily against me, and I almost whispered the next words, afraid he already couldn't hear me. "To remember the reason you fight."

"Sometimes it's so easy to forget, right?" he said, his voice thready. "And sometimes I need to give it all to someone else so I _can_ forget."

"So give it to me." The air was so thin, and somehow so numbingly cold, I didn't know what I was saying. The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about it. But when I did think about it, it was right. Duo had said we were the same, and so it was right. Because I needed it, I needed to give it to someone -- it _was_ mine to give. My life.

"Only if you'll give your burden to me." He burrowed closer, and his cheek touched my right collarbone, his skin so cold. 

Tentatively, I leaned on him, allowing my back, which had been rigid, to relax, and my arms to follow the curves of his body.

"I'll teach you how to live, 'Fei, if you teach me how to breathe."

Even though the thin air was making talking painful and sapping the strength from my muscles, I tightened my hold on him. "I can do that, Duo."

"You won't forget?"

"I won't forget."

* * *

I had thought I would die in this war; I knew in my heart that I couldn't beat Treize, and perhaps I didn't want to. If I could only understand him, if I could only forgive him for Nataku's death, then maybe I could finally rest.

And then I met Duo. But I couldn't tell him that; I couldn't tell him that after fighting Treize, _he_ was my reason to go on. 

Perhaps the truth is closer to Duo being my new start. In my mind, we could help each other get past the war and start living again. But I was a scholar and an artist before all this, and old habits die hard, so it's easy to get poetic when one thinks he is in love.

When one _is_ in love. I did love Duo. I do love Duo, still, even after everything. 

But his betrayal, which was not so much a betrayal as stark reality, is still fresh in my mind, so it's hard remembering how light he made me feel, how he eased the pain of loneliness.

I said I wouldn't forget. I couldn't forget. But I wanted to -- I didn't care if I was breaking my promise. I just wanted to forget it all, give that to someone else.

But there was no one to give it to. Somehow, Duo had taken everything without realizing what I was giving him.

The war is over. I should be learning how to live after being a soldier. Even Heero has done that.

Ah, but that's a concept that no longer makes sense: Heero being closed down, shut-off, icy and alone. Even as a trained soldier, he was preparing for life after the war, he was learning how to live as I never could. 

My mind reels at the thought of Heero -- the Perfect Soldier in Duo's world -- settling down. I had always hoped he could find the thing that would break his shell, and it's unsettling to think that by the time I had even had the chance to consider it, he already had; it was just that I didn't know any better.

Perhaps they're thinking of me right now, as I had thought of him: _I hope Wufei finds what he's looking for._

Heero: Heero is not untouchable. Heero is not all ice and distance. 

Heero and Duo: So obvious. It was right in front of me all that time.

I feel myself grin as I think of it, and a small chuckle erupts from my lips. It has an odd edge, one almost of hysteria, a maniacal feel. 

What do I do now? What am I looking for now? 

Looking over the new Mobile Suits, swallowing with difficulty past the tight collar of Mariemeia's uniform, feeling the shallow breath burn along my nasal passages, I know the answer. 

Things must be set right.

* * *

I wonder if everyone felt as slightly off-balance as I did, if everyone felt as almost unreal as I did when the realization hit them that the war was over.

I saw Deathscythe rocket towards Earth as Wing Zero blasted a wide arc out of the atmosphere for a moment before plunging back in. Winner was next, followed closely by Barton, Sandrock and Heavyarms gliding side by side into the glowing blue aura of the Earth.

It was like a dream. A dream I had had many a night, and just before I woke, there were arms around me and I was finally safe...

As I reentered Earth's atmosphere, I was trying to reorder my thoughts. 

Revenge. Treize was dead, by my own hand. My eyes still stung with tears I hadn't realized I was crying until I felt them drip onto my gloved hands. I watched the liquid drip off onto the HUD, sizzling on the hot glass, on the image of the ruined Tallgeese, fire flowing like liquid through space. 

The war was over. I suddenly had to live instead of fight.

"Come on, guys, get your asses down here!" 

All thought fled. Duo's voice over the link was like electricity, and all my senses were on over-drive. _Live instead of fight. Duo._

I had barely gotten Nataku safely landed before I was struggling to undo the harness and shut down all her systems. Through my external cameras, I saw Yuy was already climbing down from Zero, while Barton was trying to get up into Sandrock. I saw Winner stumble out onto the hatch, gripping his side. But he was smiling. We all were.

Except Yuy. Untouchable Yuy.

Deathscythe's hatch popped and I worked faster to shut everything down. My hands were shaking, and I felt clumsy and out of control.

I got down mere seconds after Duo, but he was already running by the time he hit the tarmac. 

There were masses of people, milling soldiers, civilians, reporters... And all I could see was a streak of black and chestnut as Duo all but flew across the cement.

Yuy turned at the braided boy's shout and I saw something I never thought I would: A smile, albeit a tiny one, quirking his lips up on one side. So small, but so significant. I had never seen that look on his face before. 

Slowly, my hand went to my own mouth, and I felt the same expression mirrored there. 

The ground dropped out from under me. 

Duo laughed and threw himself at Yuy -- no, _Heero_, a person, a real, whole person, not just a soldier. Heero stumbled but remained upright, his arms going around Duo, one hand gripping his braid possessively. Duo touched his face gently, almost reverently. 

I wanted to close my eyes, but I found I couldn't. My hand was trembling and I sneered, clenching a fist and dropping it to my thigh.

Heero said something to him, and I saw Duo's eyes go wide before he pushed the Japanese pilot's hair back from his face and kissed him softly. Then he was breaking away, laughing, twirling, his braid wrapped around one hand as he dashed off to hover over Winner.

Barton, the Arabian's constant companion, batted the braided pilot's hands away before taking one firmly in his grasp and shaking it. Winner insisted he was fine, insisted on a hug, and Duo embraced him warmly, still holding onto the taller pilot's hand. 

But it was Heero his gaze was reserved for, winking at the usually stoic pilot over the small blonde's shoulder.

Heero smiled back faintly. I suppose Duo was still teaching him.

Partners in war -- that's what I told myself they were. Comrades seeking solace. It never bothered me because Duo and I were to be much more.

But seeing them then, seeing the way Heero looked at Duo, the way the American's body all but curved towards him like a plant to light... it was so much more than that. It was something to rival the relationship of the other two pilots, something much stronger.

The four of them were like one unit. And I was alone. Funny how I had missed that all that time. They must have thought me to be the outsider, the one who didn't need or want anyone, and I thought it was Heero all along. I had pitied him while the four of them were doing the same to me.

Duo turned once more, spinning away again, and he caught sight of me across the tarmac. But he didn't run to me as he had the others. Rather, he held his hand out, smiling in invitation, intimately, as though he hadn't known what I was thinking, what I had thought.

I felt I would be ill, even as my legs moved as if through water, taking two unsteady steps towards them. Heero caught my eye and inclined his head slightly.

_'Can you accept this?'_

A roaring white noise filled my ears and things seemed to go into sharp focus, my eyes picking out every small detail.

Duo reaching his other hand back towards Heero, brushing lightly over the Japanese boy's shirt, as if to reassure himself that he was still there. 

Trowa ducking his head to inspect Quatre's injury, the look of love and relief on the blonde's face barely marred by pain.

Heero pulling Duo almost imperceptibly closer, catching the end of the boy's braid for just a quick, intimate moment.

My eyes shifting slightly, noting the movement, and Quatre -- kind-hearted Quatre -- following my gaze.

Looking back at me with huge blue eyes, swimming with unacceptable pity as he smiled gently at me.

My humiliation complete as my face drained of color and suddenly flushed crimson all at once, hot and cold sweeping through me one after the other. There was a gaping hole in my chest where my heart was supposed to be; my tongue was thick inside my mouth; my throat burned with the need to shout, to scream, to deny.

I clasped my hands in front of me and bowed stiffly, something I hadn't done in what felt like forever. The world continued on without me, and the tarmac between us was suddenly swarming with people, obscuring them from view.

I thought I heard Duo's voice, shouting my name.

I turned and steadily made my way back to Nataku, more alone than I had ever felt in my life. Even she had abandoned me, her voice, usually such a strong presence at my side, quiet.

* * *

Nataku resides in the shadows of the hangar where the new Suits are stored, waiting to accompany me on my journey, even if she has maintained her silence.

My sword hangs steady and sure at my side as I approach her, reaching out a hand to rest on the cool metal. Today is the day we strike.

Red lights are flashing in the hangar and klaxons sound, announcing a break in. And after seeing Trowa before, I know who it is.

But it is already too late.

Nataku's hatch opens with a hiss and I settle myself in the cockpit, powering up her systems quickly and efficiently. Much more efficiently than when I last piloted her.

There's a thread of anticipation in my belly as I fire up the thrusters and prepare for battle. Far off explosions reverberate in my skull.

Not revenge now, but vengeance. There's a very subtle difference that is not immediately obvious to those who aren't soldiers, and I know two such people who have become soft in their year as civilians. 

No matter. 

Nataku whispers something I can't quite hear, the words drowned out in the sound of the gunned engines. There's a slight moment of displacement as she lifts off, and then we're moving.

Duo is not the only one who can't tell a lie; I said I would not forget... I haven't, and I will make sure they won't, either.

* * *

End 

* * *

All original story elements and writing copyright 2000 [Jeanine Schaefer][1]. Please do not distribute this without my permission. If you want to archive it, just let me know. Any other comments or criticisms, same thing. 

**101-ism:** [http://members.nerve.com/sparcck][2]

* * *

   [1]: mailto:sparcck@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nerve.com/sparcck



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